


Water Thicker Than Blood

by greygerbil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Getting Together While Pregnant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy complications, pregnancy as result of rape by third party, pregnant Davos Seaworth, threat of drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-11-24 10:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18164246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Davos is shaken after an attack leaves him with child and Stannis wants to help him get justice. Over the months of Davos' pregnancy, however, the two of them get ever closer, and not just to discuss the handling of the king's law.





	Water Thicker Than Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



> Hi there! I loved your prompt and I hope I managed to write something you enjoy.

Davos limped up to his Red Keep chambers in the merciful cover of darkness, ice-cold shock still settled deep in the marrow of his bones, where it remained even as he stared into the fire wrapped in his blanket. Sleep would not come. His thoughts would not stop spiralling. Not even touching the bag of finger bones around his neck gave him respite – tonight, they had failed to bring him good luck.

When he’d been a boy learning on smuggler ships, young and short and not strong enough to win in a struggle against a grown man, he had with quick mind and quicker feet somehow always managed to slip away from the hands of sailors looking to warm their cot at night. As the years passed, he’d built up enough of a reputation to escape them entirely as people in the know came to respect him, need his help too much to risk his grudge. He’d worked mostly alone, anyway. But now the arrows he’d thought to have dodged had flown in from another angle altogether and struck him down.

He’d known only one of the men in person, the other just by name, told to him in passing by Stannis when they stood in the feast hall watching the teeming crowd. Lord Ewart Gildvale and his cousin Harlow Gildvale where Baratheon bannermen whose lands were close to King’s Landing, north of Bronzegate, fertile and rich grounds yielding many crops and, through them, much gold. Davos remembered the older, Ewart, from the last days of the siege at Storm’s End. By the time Davos arrived, Ewart had already made an enemy of Stannis by insisting on surrender at every opportunity while at the same time trying to worm his way into the role of advisor, but obviously utterly failing to grasp what kind of man Stannis was. Davos had noted him down as someone who Stannis considered an irrelevant annoyance. There was one remarkable thing he’d heard about Ewart in those days, though: Ewart was the son of two mothers. The Gildvale family, like those of another few worthy lords, had been granted access to an arcane magic by the Targaryens well over two hundred years ago, one that changed the flesh by the power of a ritual and henceforth allowed those of the bloodline to make their heirs with people of the same sex. While the magic remained a hereditary trait once the ritual was finished, and through bastards had spread a little among the commoners here and there, it was still largely viewed as a noble privilege. This trust placed in the Gildvale family despite the relative unimportance of their house proved how deep and strong their roots ran, and perhaps explained the importance Ewart thought he should have had.

Staying at the frayed edges of the crowd at the king’s banquet while Stannis was forced to mingle by his brother, Davos had made a turn and bumped into Harlow Gildvale. As he apologised, Ewart had seized him up, holding his goblet tight.

“This is our saviour, the onion knight,” he’d told Harlow, speech already slurred from drink. “He’s a smuggler.”

“I was,” Davos had answered politely.

“Yes, Lord Stannis grew quite fond of him after he arrived with his onions. Of course, he’s not really of so much use now in a castle – no offence, ser.”

He’d said the title like an insult, but it was not the first time Davos had heard that tone, nor that a lord had assumed that Stannis was keeping him around more as a relic than a retainer. There was no proof of that, and anyone who actually lived at court could have told them it was wrong, but Davos suspected some highborn men and women could simply not understand why the brother of the king would sink so low to have Davos here as his attendant knight when so many others would have been glad for the spot.

“I try to be helpful still in any way I can,” Davos had said, seeing no point in arguing with Ewart, eyes darting about for some excuse to escape the men.

Ewart had looked at him for a long moment.

“If that’s so, perhaps you can show us to the stables,” he’d said, looking at his cousin as he did. “We’ve been meaning to check on our horses. Mine pulled a muscle on the ride here.”

Davos had wanted to tell them to go look for a servant, but hadn’t wanted to start a fight, and, being lowborn himself, had found himself sympathetic to whatever poor soul he’d pawn them off on. If it amused Ewart to make him do servant’s duties, so be it. He’d not been terrible busy, after all, so he gestured at them to follow, picking out a slim, quiet hallway through the midst of the Red Keep to put them on the shortest way.

It was in that deserted place that the men suddenly had him with his cheek mashed against the cold stone wall and a dagger at his throat.

“Keep serving your betters and you’ll live, dirty thief,” Ewart had told him while Harlow yanked down his breeches.

After a failed attempt to wind himself free of their grasp that earned him a sharp, bleeding cut across his throat where the blade bit into his skin, Davos’ mind had shifted towards animal instincts, keeping his breathing low and his limbs loose and his tongue still. Keep him alive.

 _I should have struggled more_ , Davos thought bitterly, aching still and shivering despite the fire in the hearth. It wouldn’t have been a smart thing to do, of course. The two of them were stronger and taller and had been recklessly drunk; they could have kept him, anyway, and might well have slit his throat for real if angered. He still wished he’d at least made them bleed a little in turn.

-

Davos knew at once he should tell Stannis. Rape was a crime against the king’s law and he would never stand for it, even if Davos was not a highborn knight; seven hells, even if Davos had been a stable boy, Stannis would have taken it as the same offence. His strict adherence to justice for all was one of the things Davos had always admired about him when so many were willing to bend the rules to suit their needs and pleasures; the proof of that dangled around Davos’ own neck, of course.

But the master of ships was a busy man with many duties. Davos did not see him for more than brief moments that following week. Stannis called him up to his chambers then to give him a small task to deal with, a mission to spy on the nightly traffic to the anchor places south of the main harbour of King’s Landing in his small boat.

“Is there anything from you?” he asked Davos, habitually, when he was done outlining his orders.

Davos opened his mouth. No sounds would come out. Shame was holding his throat closed even as Stannis looked at him expectantly, keeping him quiet as well as the knife pressing against his flesh had done.

“Nothing, my lord,” Davos said finally, sick with defeat.

-

Every boatsman could tell you that sometimes you had to strike sails and turn away if the galls were too harsh and the water too wild, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t ever try to get to the coast again, following a different current, a stronger wind. Davos, however, had not yet found his point of attack, despite another few attempts.

Stannis was a good man and Davos had long known he liked him beyond reason. It had never bothered him, even with that wistful flicker of his heart he felt sometimes when looking at him. Though Stannis was not married and could easily have taken a man to wed should he wish, the Baratheons being of course blessed with the old Targaryan magic, their respective places in life forbade an official union entirely. Stannis was also not the kind of man to take lovers on the side, though. This meant that just as Davos knew he could not learn to fly, he knew he would not be with Stannis, and that certainty made it quite easy to be in love, a soft secret harboured deep and silent in his heart, where it would remain.

Now, however, was the first time he cursed that affection. It would have at least been easier to look Stannis in the eye and speak of the men who’d forced him if he hadn’t also wished himself in his arms during the worst sleepless nights. It added another layer of shame and there was already too much of that.

Still, he knew Stannis would expect honesty of Davos. It was why he liked him above the lords who only said the things that were easy and pleasing to hear about.

They were walking the gangway up to a watchtower in the dim light of a sinking sun one evening when Davos tried again.

“I have to talk to you, my lord.”

Stannis looked at him, waiting, and Davos took a deep breath.

“Stannis! There you are. Come down, Jon wants to speak to us.”

Robert’s voice, loud and lively, from behind them. Davos snapped his mouth shut. Looking up sideways, he could see the annoyance on Stannis’ face at being so rudely interrupted.

“I’m talking to Davos,” he said over his shoulder.

Robert swerved his gaze over to Davos.

“Is what you have to say more important than the kingdom’s entire fleet, Ser Davos?” he asked, amusement bright in his voice.

Mutely, Davos shook his head. 

-

For the next fortnight, Stannis was busy enough that Davos started wondering how he even slept, and so he decided not to burden him, after all, suppressing the thought that perhaps this was as much concern for Stannis as it was cowardice. The rape was a good couple of months in the past by now, and Davos had forced the hurt and humiliation to the back of his mind. It didn’t seem quite so bad anymore, at least not in daylight, and Davos had survived pain and anguish before. This, too, would pass. Besides, Stannis needed his help now, being ever obedient to his king brother, who had decreed for him to oversee the make of three dozen ships to have ready to defend against the Krakens and the pirates that had lately been making the Narrow Sea unsafe. It meant Davos was mostly by his side and that was where he felt safest, like a nervous dog gentled by the presence of its master. Those were thoughts that gnawed at his pride, but they were something to hold on to regardless.

It was not easy, though. For some reason, Davos found himself growing ever so quickly more tired than he used to. Stannis was the one who got less sleep, most certainly, but it was Davos who would lag behind him as they visited the harbour, rubbing his eyes and stifling yawns. He felt like a bucket with a hole in the bottom, all his energy leaking out of him in a rapid steady drip from the moment he woke in the morning. He couldn’t keep food down well and found some things he used to eat happily just weeks ago as repulsive as uncooked innards. His head and back seemed to take turns hurting though he couldn’t remember damage to either, not to mention a persistent dizziness that made his steps less sure than he would have liked.

“You should visit Pycelle,” Stannis said, one evening, as they were sitting up in his rooms. They had been discussing the day’s events, but had fallen into silence for a moment as Stannis was searching through his papers.

Davos, who had been staring bleary-eyed and exhausted at a bundle of ledgers he could not read, looked up at him in surprise.

“Why is that?”

Stannis gave him an impatient glance.

“Obviously you’re not well,” he said. “How often have you excused yourself to run into some alley and empty your stomach, or almost fallen asleep at the table at supper – if you show up at all? You don’t need me to tell you that, do you?”

Davos frowned. He’d hoped Stannis had not noticed, being too occupied with his tasks.

“It’s just a passing indisposition, my lord,” he said.

Truth be told, he just did not wish to face Grand Maester Pycelle with something this inconsequential. He liked the kindly Maester Cressen of Storm’s End and now Dragonstone quite well and might have gone to him, but to bother the grand maester over a bad stomach? No. If all else failed, he’d find a physician in town. It was to Stannis’ credit that he cared, though.

“Don’t be reckless,” Stannis told him.

“I won’t be.”

Davos drew himself up in his seat and gave the most honest smile he could muster.

-

Davos had hoped the matter was settled with that, but the very next day, Stannis was proven right. Davos had had an especially bad morning, his skull thudding with pain and his attempt at breakfast already left behind in a cluster of bushes in one of the Keep’s courtyards, when he followed Stannis to the stables. Suddenly, the dim darkness of the stairwell they were descending seemed to close in around him. The world twisted and tilted before his eyes. He just managed to throw his balance to his heels so he would not tumble forward down the steep stone steps, instead feeling their edges bury hard into his shoulders and crack against the back of his head as he fell. Everything went black.

When he woke, it was to the sight of Stannis sitting over him, watching him with a deep frown and worry in his blue eyes. There was flat ground under Davos; he must have been dragged down to the next landing.

Reflexively, Davos tried to sit up, but this just brought the darkness rushing in again and so he fell back, a hand over his eyes.

“Stop!” Stannis commanded sharply, even as he pushed him down by his chest.

“Yes, my lord,” Davos muttered. “My apologies.”

“You will see Pycelle now.”

He probably should, at that, for Davos had never been prone to fainting spells before. A vague dread threaded through him. What if the incident with the Gildvale men had left him with some graver sickness? There were enough illnesses that could be passed on through laying with another. Or perhaps he had not healed as well as he’d thought. They had been quite brutal with him and though the ache had faded eventually, perhaps some damage inside of him had grown festering. If Pycelle looked him over, would Davos have to speak the truth? His blood ran cold.

But there was no fleeing it now. Davos tried again to sit up, slowly this time, and it was like black butterflies flapped their wings at the corners of his sight, but they remained away at the edges. Stannis offered him his arm and Davos held gladly on to it. It was mostly Stannis’ strength that put him back on his feet as he pulled Davos up and hauled him down the rest of the stairs.

By the time they had reached Pycelle’s rooms, Davos could carry his own weight again and sheepishly thanked Stannis for his help. He got another long, hard look in response as Stannis rapped firmly against the heavy wooden door.

The old Pycelle answered, peering at them under his bushy white brows.

“Ser Davos is sick,” Stannis announced, without preamble.

“Is that so? Then you best step in, ser.”

Davos did with a last nod at Stannis before bowing slightly before Pycelle, his still precarious sense of balance protesting at the motion. He stepped into his room and followed a gesture of Pycelle’s to sit down on a flat wooden bank.

“If Lord Stannis is marching you to my door, it must be a grievous matter. He would not himself come to me for anything less than life-threatening injuries, I sometimes think.”

Despite everything, Davos had to smile. They were in that alike, he supposed, quicker to counsel than to take their own advice, for he had also worried about Stannis’ health while battling his own.

“I’m afraid I just scared my lord by collapsing on the stairs. Everything else has not been so dramatic. Just a sore back and head, some tiredness, and I’ve had trouble keeping my food down, especially in the mornings. But that’s about all.”

The look Pycelle gave him as he slowly stroked his knotted fingers through his long white beard seemed to hold an idea, though Davos could not say which.

“Well, it’s not surprising the lord is worried, then,” he said thoughtfully. “Would you lie down and pull up your tunic?”

Davos did so, wondering what thought the Grand Maester was chasing. Since he was a learned man, it didn’t surprise Davos that he had a better understanding than Davos himself did even just after hearing what ailed him.

As he laid down, he found Pycelle shuffling over to softly press on his lower stomach, and, looking down at himself, Davos thought that under his fingers, there was an ever so slight curve to his stomach that he did not remember from before. It took another second or two for the gears to turn and click in place and suddenly Pycelle’s notion did not seem like it would be something only a scholar could find out anymore.

_Oh gods, no. No, no, please, no._

“It’s a little difficult to say for sure at this stage, ser, but I would guess that you are with child.”

Davos feared he would faint again, his heart was stumbling so in his chest. He stared at Pycelle.

“Of course, that’s only possible if you have shared the bed with a noble man or lady. But people at court know you are quite close to Lord Stannis, if I may say so…”

A laugh wanted to escape Davos’ throat. It was the most reasonable conclusion, he supposed. If only it were true. 

“It was not Lord Stannis,” he managed, as he sat up, pulling the tunic tight over his body as if he could hide away the thing inside himself somehow by removing it from his view. All that he had pushed to the back of his head to forget as one dark spot in a life that had known many suddenly threatened to burst through like water pressing on a failing dam, a deluge of pain and rage and embarrassment. What had he done to deserve this? Was this some punishment by the gods for reaching too high, Flea Bottom smuggler that he was? The world swam before his eyes.

“Thank you for your advice,” he choked out, almost falling over his own feet as he got off the bench. He bowed once more, sightless, and pushed the door open, angrily dragging his sleeve across his eyes and pushing them in with the palms of his hands as he stood outside, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Stannis’ knight should not be seen crying like a helpless child by anyone at court. If he could only get to his chambers…

“Davos?”

Davos’ head whipped up. He’d expected Stannis to already have left, gone to the harbour where they had been headed before Davos’ accident, but he was still standing there in the hallway, staring at him.

The Grand Maester’s words rang in Davos’ head like bells. _People at court know you are quite close to Lord Stannis._ There was no more waiting, especially not if the information was now in the Grand Maester’s mouth. Scholar he might be, but one who liked to meddle with the courtiers, if Stannis’ complaints were to be believed. It was Davos’ duty to make sure his Lord’s reputation was not stained through him, and for that he had to put the truth out there.

“We must speak, my lord,” he said, wincing at the strangled, rough drag of his own voice.

Looking startled, Stannis nodded his head at him. Davos followed him up a set of stairs. He looked at his feet so that his hair fell to hide his face from passing knights and servants. Once Stannis opened the door to some mostly empty guest room, he wiped the tears away again with the back of his hand.

“What is going on?” Stannis demanded, and the authority in his tone could not hide the disquiet. “What did Pycelle say?”

“I’m with child,” Davos answered. It was still so unreal that those words came over his lips easily, like a story from a dream.

Shock passed across Stannis’ face, perhaps a flicker of something like sadness Davos didn’t understand, before his expression settled on a confused frown.

“Who…”

“Ewart and Harlow Gildvale,” Davos said quietly. “I don’t know which one.” What a nightmare this was. He pushed further, onwards, before Stannis could speak, because he had to get the words out like he spat out his food, too. “At the feast for the Mother, they asked me to lead them to the stables so they could check on their horses. I picked the fastest way across the old west wing. They were well drunk, and Ewart thought he had some quarrel with me, I think, still talking of the siege. We were alone and they stopped me.” He paused to breathe in. “I had a knife to my throat and I was worried his hand would slip if he wouldn’t do it on purpose, anyway. They were two and quite powerful knights, as you know. I tried to flee, but they were stronger, and in the end, I just held still when they took me.” He was looking at his feet again. The tears had stopped now, strangely, but the ache hadn’t. He chewed his tongue. “I suppose a real knight would have picked death over dishonour, my lord,” he added, tiredly. He thought for sure Stannis would have.

“You are a real knight,” Stannis said, after a few seconds of stunned silence, as if it was the only thing he could think of.

“I swear to you by the gods that I'm not lying. I would not mind standing up for my carelessness. It wouldn’t be so bad, even, I could – I’m a knight now. It would just be my bastard, but I could still raise it and-”

“I believe you,” Stannis said, cutting across him.

Finally, Davos glanced up at him and almost took a step back towards the door. Stannis looked furious.

“Why did you not tell me as soon as it happened?” he asked.

“I wanted to, but I – couldn’t,” Davos admitted.

It all seemed to be one long line of failures when it came to this.

“But people need to know,” he added, though everything in him rebelled against the idea, “for I know of no safe way to get rid of a child for a man that isn’t as likely to kill the father as the unborn, so they will see me grow big. The Grand Maester already guessed that it was your child and he won’t be the only one to jump to that conclusion. I’m sorry to say that your honour will be on the line as much as mine.”

Perhaps, oddly enough, more so. Who cared if some lowborn knight had a bastard? The king’s morally firm and uptight brother getting one on him, though – now that was a story to gossip about.

“The Gildvales must pay for their crime, that is why it has to be known. I couldn’t care less what the people at court whisper about.”

A brief smile twitched at the corner of Davos’ mouth. No, Stannis might truly not. He sat down on a windowsill. Now that he had finally confessed to Stannis, he felt empty as an old bottle. He wasn’t empty, though. Something was nesting within him, and in less than seven months, it’d be out here in the world, if the Mother granted it. What was he going to do?

Something touched his shoulder. He looked up to find Stannis had stepped up to him. With an almost shy look of guilt on his face, he drew back his hand.

“My apologies, I…”

“It’s alright.”

Davos had reached up automatically and grabbed Stannis’ wrist, which he quickly released when he realised what he was doing. Stannis looked at him for a moment before he slowly, carefully, settled his hand back on Davos’ shoulder. As far as comfort went, it wouldn’t have been much from most men, but from Stannis, it was more than just about anyone got, and Davos found himself infinitely grateful for his trust and readiness to help, the love he held for him flaring up like a spark of flame falling in dry hay.

“Did you just keep this secret to yourself all this time?” Stannis asked.

Davos nodded his head and Stannis gritted his teeth.

“That’s a heavy burden to carry alone,” he said, slowly.

“My lord, if I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t tell anyone.”

It was true that he had friends who had more agreeable natures or were simply on an even keel with him in the social hierarchy, making them easier to talk to. But Stannis was the man he put all his faith in.

To his surprise, Stannis’ cheeks turned pink.

“I wish you had done it earlier. I remember I thought it looked like you were trying to talk to me at times, but with everything going on – damn it all, I figured you would come if it was important. I didn’t think.”

“You couldn’t have guessed,” Davos said. Usually, he had no qualms asking for Stannis’ attention if he thought he had something to speak of that deserved it, after all.

Slowly, Stannis unfolded his hand from his shoulder.

“Will you be alright?”

Davos nodded his head. Eventually, he would be. Eventually, everyone always was, weren’t they? It was that or go mad. He had to just tough it out. If only the memory was all he had taken from that night...

Stannis didn’t seem to like the answer much, but glanced at the door.

“I’m going to speak to my brother.”

-

“Robert has invited the Gildvales to the court.”

Stannis had brought Davos up to his chambers for supper, where they sat around a small table eating bread with cold cuts of meat and cheese. Davos found himself picking at some cooked carrots which didn’t upset his stomach terribly much.

“Does he believe me?” Davos asked.

“He seemed surprised, but he actually saw you leaving with them, so part of the story he knew to be true. He’d left his wife and me alone on the dais to scour the room for better entertainment.” Stannis sneered. “I suppose for once something good came of his lechery.”

Davos nodded his head.

“Besides, they spend more time at court, usually, especially in summer. Varys says it’s odd they haven’t been around for two months and he’d wondered at that.”

Varys knew, too – Davos wondered how many more. Soon, it would be an open case in court. Gods, but it made his skin crawl to think of it. Good smugglers were not people who enjoyed overmuch attention as a rule, and the reason for it was hair-raising.

“Is something the matter?” Stannis asked.

“I know I have to make my accusation, and I will, but… I just wish I didn’t have to,” Davos said honestly. “I’d rather not speak about this to anyone, much less a hall full of people, and I don’t even want to be in the same keep as them.”

“Don’t forget I will be there, as well as the king’s guards,” Stannis said firmly. “It’s an ugly duty, I know, but at least you’ll have nothing to fear.”

The gratitude Davos knew would be on his face was not for show.

“It would be my task to protect you, being your knight, but in truth it’s me who gains from your presence, sire. I’d keep you in my chambers at night if I could.”

Despite the truth behind the words, it was supposed to be a joke, but Stannis flushed once more. It was a rather endearing sight on him, Davos thought. You could often forget how young Stannis was, just four years into his twenties, since his expression usually was that of one who’d had thirty years more than that to grow bitter with the world. Now he looked quite his age, all open surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Davos said, smiling. “I jest.”

“Yes, obviously,” Stannis murmured quickly, busying himself with his cheese.

Davos found himself looking at him for a long moment. If Stannis was displeased, he never made a point to hide it. Such lack of tact was what made him such a bad courtier, and such an easy person to like, in Davos’ opinion, at least. Yet, he saw nothing like it.

He squashed down that blink of hope. No, it was nonsense. He was carrying another man’s child. Even if Stannis had ever wanted him, he sure did not now. Davos bit down on that thought, too. It was too painful even to contemplate that this attack might have taken even more from him.

-

Ewart and Harlow Gildvale had decided to take a holiday in the Lannister lands and would have to be tracked down and fetched, a messenger had told at court a week after Stannis had first set events in motion. Varys was of the opinion that this only strengthened their case. The young men seemed to be fleeing. Davos, for his part, could not decide whether he was angry that they dragged matters out, or hope they would never return and force him to look into their faces again.

The nausea and aches did not stop as the weeks went on, but though everything about the revelation was terrifying, knowing where they came from at least gave him some measure of certainty. Stannis had asked Davos if he wished to leave court and retreat to the lands Stannis had gifted him for as long as they waited for the Gildvales to be found and brought back. Davos didn’t; in fact, he would have begged on his hands and knees to be allowed to stay. He knew that if he were sent to sit alone in a keep out in the woods, without anything to do when all these thoughts kept encroaching in moments of quiet, he would finally collapse and could not be sure if he would ever reassemble the pieces again. Thankfully, Stannis had simply nodded his head when Davos had declined.

“If you feel ill, you stay in your chambers,” he had reminded him, nevertheless.

Though Davos was happy for Stannis’ understanding, he did not make use of the offer much. Even when he was not well, it suited him more to be with the ships and sailors and assist Stannis in his duties at court as best he could. His work was familiar and Stannis’ presence a comfort. Besides, he had always been a simple man. Where he came from, people had to learn to pick themselves up and dust themselves off and go on regardless of whatever horrors had happened to them, and Flea Bottom held plenty. They did not have the luxury of succumbing to the pain of their bodies or their hearts, for to lie down meant you’d be trampled.

Just once, however, he did allow himself the weakness of asking a servant to tell Stannis he would not come to him today. As soon as he woke up in the morning, his vision was failing again and he was lightheaded enough to feel as if he was floating. He burrowed into his pillows and blankets despite the warm summer air and gave himself to a mercifully dreamless sleep.

When he woke in the early afternoon, it was to a rap on the door. He sat up, blanket sliding from his shoulders.

“Yes?”

The door opened to let Stannis in. He took in the sight of Davos, no doubt dishevelled and somewhat pale, but it was his naked stomach where his gaze came to rest for a brief moment before he hastily snapped his eyes back up at Davos’ face.

“It’s showing a bit now, isn’t it?” Davos said, good-naturedly. He could yet hide the curve under his doublets and tunics, but with nothing to cover his belly, the soft swell was unmistakeable.

“Yes,” Stannis said slowly.

“How can I help you, my lord?”

“Are you well?”

“Better. I wasn’t sick, just couldn’t quite come to my feet without falling. I hope to be back tomorrow.”

Stannis nodded his head, standing a little awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“How did you find the council today?” Davos asked, in the hopes of dispersing the odd tension between them.

The somewhat uncertain look on Stannis’ face was replaced by a frown.

“Robert was already drunk despite us meeting right after breaking fast,” he said, finally drawing up a chair from the small table. “It didn’t make having any reasonable discussions easier, and with the pirate plague and the fires in Dorne, we would have needed them.” His frown deepened. “Then Varys said the Gildvale family offered to make up for whatever ‘transgressions’ their sons were – surely wrongfully – accused of by paying a fine.”

Davos stared at him. The king was not too handy with money, as had become abundantly clear, and would likely soon end up in debt to the Lannisters. Stannis’ tales from the council made him certain of that. Such an offer may very well tempt him.

“I shut Varys down,” Stannis said quickly, setting his jaw. “If I could, I’d forbid all these noblemen to simply buy their way out of the king’s law. It’s not right to apply it only to those who don’t have gold to divert its attention.”

“Thank you,” Davos said quietly. He had at first been happy to simply avoid thinking about the rape altogether, but now that Stannis had brought about the idea of finding justice for him, he must have gotten attached to it. “I’m just surprised the council would risk suspicion falling on you...”

Stannis snorted. “Robert barely understands that a bastard could mean dishonour to anyone,” he said. “And Jon Arryn suggested to send you to your lands as long as you are pregnant and then take the child and have it raised somewhere else. No one would know of it.” He paused. “I don’t – perhaps you do want that regardless?”

Davos fell silent, looking down at himself. It made sense that Lord Jon Arryn would think this idea might please him, that Stannis would. After all, he had not wished for this child and still wondered deep into long nights if in some ways it would always be a sad reminder. Certainly he blamed no one who, under circumstances like that, would try to find a wood witch skilled in the arts of taking barely-grown children out of the belly, or would simply hand the babe off after it was born. But he had contemplated this question long by now and found himself too sentimental, or perhaps just too simple of mind to do so, like an animal attached to the blood of his blood.

“Thank you for your offer, my lord. But I figure that in the end, this child carries the least guilt of anyone. It’s half of the Gildvales, but it’s also half mine, and it’s growing under my heart. If there’s nothing speaking against it, I would like to raise it while I stay here with you.”

Stannis gave a nod. “It may be a bastard, but I will treat it like any other child of yours if you do. It can learn with a maester like the other children at court. If it’s a girl, I will make sure she becomes lady-in-waiting to a noblewoman where she we will be taught her manners and duties. If it’s a boy, he can be my squire once he is old enough.”

For a moment, Davos found himself silent with surprise. He wouldn’t have dared to presume Stannis to be so involved in even the life of a legitimate child of his, much less one acquired as this one. Despite the way the poor creature had been brought into the world, it could have a life with a lord’s hand guiding it like that, a good one, too.

“Sire...”

Davos brushed off the blanket completely and slid down from the bed to the floor, on his knees. In just loose linen braies, he was not properly dressed to thank his lord, but he needed to express how grateful he was for everything Stannis was doing for him. He’d felt so, so lonely before telling him.

Hands grasped his shoulders and raised him up to his feet.

“A sick man shouldn’t be kneeling on the cold stone floor.”

Despite his harsh command, Stannis looked more worried than angry. Davos smiled as he let himself be sat back down on the bed.

-

Davos could not say if it was nature being kind on him or the security that Stannis’ protection provided him, allowing him to draw his breath more freely and lick his wounds in peace, but as a month passed and another, the worst aches let up. He still had less energy than before, but since another human grew in him, he could not fault it for taking from his reserves. His head and back hurt, but he did not get sick and unsteady the way he had before. While sometimes he startled at a touch on his back or shoulder, and the unwanted thoughts still came to him at night, he had managed to stitch his soul back together in some ways. Bad things happened. He had to continue living, anyway. After all, his lord needed him and soon, there would be a child he had to be strong for.

Stannis still heeded Davos’ claims that he could work and would use him for all the tasks he had before. However, Davos did notice that at times he would be fetched later or released earlier than he might have otherwise been, and Stannis seemed reluctant to send him away on any mission that took him from court for longer than a week. A couple of times, when Davos seemed all too sluggish, Stannis had even commanded him to go directly to his chambers.

Davos spoke freely to Stannis of the unborn child, the things the grand maester said about its progress, happy that he had someone to confide in, and Stannis seemed quite willing to hear, asked at times when Davos had not mentioned it in a while, even if only to give him an order to take things easy after.

Perhaps he should have chafed at this dictation, but Davos knew that this was just Stannis’ way. Instead of gentle words and touches, he would afford the people he cared for assistance. Davos had seen it with young Renly, even at times with Robert, though he worried they did not always understand that it was not just Stannis trying to push his will on them, the way they bristled at it.

Since Stannis was Davos’ lord and commanded him in all things, he saw no reason to rebel against this, especially since Stannis had not exactly forced total bedrest; and, with a trace of guilt, he did enjoy Stannis’ attention on him, though knowing that it was not inspired by the sort of affection Davos felt for him. There were times when Stannis went far beyond the duties of a kind lord to his knight, even. One day, Davos mentioned, more as an interesting oddity than a complaint, that he seemed to be always cold these last few weeks. When he returned from a short two-day trip down to a haven by a village port north of King’s Landing, he found the wood the servants had put in the hearth in his chambers piled higher than before, and it remained so from that day on. He did not think much of it until a few evenings later, he entered his room and spotted a cloak neatly folded on his bed, lined on the inside with a soft layer of fur. He shook it out to find it was grey, with a black ship wearing an onion on its sail. Definitely not something misplaced, but he also could not remember owning it.

The next morning, he asked Stannis about the cloak.

“You only have that thin, patched mantle you wore back in Storm’s End,” Stannis said, not looking at Davos, as they marched across the courtyard to their horses, “and barely any clothes with your coat of arms, anyway. If you’re at court this much, it’s better to display it every once in a while.”

Of course, it was summer now, with golden light and sweltering heat, and Davos was perhaps the only person in town longing for more warmth, so the winter cloak seemed an odd choice. Davos knew why it had been that, though. He thanked Stannis and that night slept much better wrapped in the thick fabric.

Another time, Stannis prepared to leave Davos alone with the builders at the harbour so he could get back to an audience with his king brother and Davos said off-handedly that if the builders continued explaining their steps at the snail’s pace they had used all day, the market stalls would be packed up by the time he rode home.

“What do you want to buy?” Stannis asked.

“Just red grapes, the Dornish ones.” Davos smiled slightly. “I find them too sweet, really, but for some reason I have wanted them all week. I always thought those sorts of sudden desires were just a myth, but apparently my child likes sugar more than me.” He returned his attention to the builders bustling about the skeleton of the sloop’s hull sitting on the beach. “Well, I’ll go tomorrow,” he added, attention already diverted.

That evening, he found a bowl of deep red grapes on the table in his room.

He plucked a few of them, eager to taste the sweet juice, and made his way over to Stannis’ quarters with the bowl in hand. Admitted after a soft knock, he entered, seeing Stannis sitting at his desk over a scroll.

“Do I have you to thank again, my lord?”

“I happened to come by the market,” Stannis said, glancing at his papers.

Strange, Davos thought, considering that the market was out of the way of every direct road from the construction site at the harbour to the Red Keep. It seemed that whatever Davos said of his wishes would be taken as a request. Stannis could hardly have been more doting were Davos carrying his child in his belly. Of course, many people already thought it so, though Davos denied it whenever asked. He hadn’t been able to hide his pregnancy for a while now. On his lithe frame, his stomach looked like he was just weeks from giving birth already.

“You have been very kind to me. I fear it makes people talk that we are together so much, though.”

“Does that bother you?”

“If I’m honest, it’s more comfortable for me than to be questioned on the truth. But-”

“You know my opinion,” Stannis said, cutting him off. 

“You never let me take care of you, my lord,” Davos answered with a lopsided smile.

There was a fleeting shadow of amusement on Stannis’ face. Davos took another grape and offered him the bowl. Stannis plucked some for himself.

“Do you think that ship you inspected will be finished before the midsummer storms?”

“If the supply of wood keeps steady-”

Davos interrupted himself with a wince at a sharp pain in his side, pressing a hand against his stomach. Stannis stood.

“Davos?”

“It’s alright,” Davos was quick to say. “The little one is just playing around. If you could look at my stomach from inside, it’d be full of bruises.”

“You can feel it that much?”

Davos wondered a little at the surprise, but then again, how many pregnancies had Stannis really watched closely? Perhaps his mother’s with Renly, but he’d been young then, probably not terribly interested in a babe until it was in the world for him to look at and play with. Queen Cersei and him were certainly not close enough, and Stannis had never been the type to make fast friends, or get lost in idle chatter about babes.

“You could feel it, too,” Davos said, placing the grapes down and rounding the desk. Stannis did seem worried about this child, or at least the one carrying it, so perhaps he would like to know it was healthy. When Davos carefully reached for his hand, Stannis did not pull it back.

Davos placed it over the expanse of his stomach. The child had a bit of a habit of kicking the same spot over and over, much to his chagrin. It did now, too, right against Stannis’ flat palm. The look of surprise on his face made Davos smile.

“Lively enough to keep me up all night.”

Stannis kept his hand over his stomach a moment longer. It was a feeling that had heat spread through Davos’ whole body, even with the fabric of his doublet between them. Stannis pulled back slowly.

“It seems like it will grow into a strong child,” he said. There was some hesitation in his voice.

“What is it, my lord?”

Stannis shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Since Davos’ staring silence was as good as a request, Stannis eventually relented.

“I just wondered if – it is not hard for you to think of the child, knowing what happened.”

It surprised Davos how personal the question was, since Stannis did not usually venture deep into the realm of private feelings. Yet, Davos found he deserved an answer, even if he would not have afforded that to any other person.

“I think of it as my child now. Just mine. Since I can’t even say who the father is…” Davos looked down at his feet, but the view was blocked by the curve of his stomach, before searching Stannis’ gaze again. “You have been the one to act most in my child’s interest, sire, and any child born of me, by whichever way, will be in your service also. So that is the only loyalties my child will have by birth, you and me, and I will hold to that thought.”

“That – yes, that is right,” Stannis said quietly, before he surprised Davos by reaching out again for his stomach. His careful gaze was on Davos’ face, searching for protest, he assumed. But Stannis’ fingers splayed across his belly, his palm resting gently against it did not bother Davos at all.

The child didn’t kick again; perhaps it felt Davos’ calm.

The thoughts swirling wildly in his head came when he’d closed Stannis’ door behind himself.

-

“You’ll have a child, right, Ser Davos?”

Renly turned to Davos, who had gotten up at supper to lean over to his brother, Stannis, to have a quiet conversation about the messenger from the Free Cities they were supposed to meet tomorrow.

Young Renly was only eleven, but in the last year, he’d grown an inch taller than Davos and showed no sign of stopping. Though for now he was a collection of gangly limbs and knobbly joints, it was clear he would take after his brothers, another strong Baratheon man who stood a head above almost everyone else.

Stannis shot Renly a stern glance for the interruption, but Davos smiled at him.

“Yes, indeed. Why do you ask?”

The boy looked at him, head cocked.

“My friend Bannar says it’s Stannis’ babe.”

“Your friend is talking nonsense,” Stannis said sharply. “And you shouldn’t be listening to every bit of gossip that flies around the court, or else you’ll fill your head with nothing of value.”

Disappointment showed on Renly’s face.

“You should have a child, Stannis,” he decided. “Robert and you are so old, you don’t ever have time to play. And Queen Cersei never lets me go near Joffrey. Bannar’s little sister is really funny.” He grabbed the golden cloak he wore and pulled it up over his face, then peered over the edge of it. “When you do this, she doesn’t know where you went.” He laughed.

“You’re old enough to start concentrating on your duties, too,” Stannis said, but without the hard edge in his voice that many others were treated with. He was often a little softer on Renly than others, Davos thought, even if he did not admit it; and Renly ignored his words, apparently quite aware Robert was not going to force his opinion.

“Well, I’m staying at court, too, Lord Renly, and if you want to, you can still play with my babe.”

“Really?”

Davos nodded his head. Though he did not know him all too well, he was quite fond of Stannis’ little brother. In temperament, he seemed to take after Robert more, though with a note of light-heartedness that the king missed, or perhaps had lost before Davos had gotten to know him. He had first met the boy at the siege of Storm’s End, a skinny little thing trailing behind the maester, and spent quite a few evening talking of his adventures to him, which, to a young noble-born child, were like fairy tales.

The young lord leaned towards Stannis’ place at the table with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I have a doll from when I was little,” Renly said, proudly throwing his head of jet-black hair back. “But I’m big now, so I don’t play with dolls anymore. Do you think the babe would like a doll?”

“I’m sure the babe would, though it’ll be a few months until it’s old enough to really play with it. You should ask your lord brother if you can give it away, though.”

He did not much like claiming the expensive toys of a young lord for his own bastard child without some support.

“It’s your doll,” Stannis said, at Renly’s look. “You can do with it as you please.”

“I’m going to make it a new cloak before!”

With that, Renly darted off.

“He likes bright fabrics. He has a couple of drawers in his room full of them,” Stannis said, looking after him. “This doll will be very colourful when he’s through with it.” He shook his head. “If he bothers you, tell me, I will set him straight.”

“It’s fine, sire. The young lord is a friendly boy. He means well.”

“He does,” Stannis agreed, with a brief hint of a smile.

If it bothered him that his younger brother – whom Davos knew he loved a lot more than it was in him to say out loud – was planning to get involved in the life of Davos’ bastard, it didn’t show. 

-

The wind drove icy drizzle into their faces as they climbed up the broad plank onto the new ship that laid at anchor in the harbour of King’s Landing. While most of their other projects were still in the first stages, this ship was almost fully built, though the mast was not finished yet, supported by scaffolding, and the sail was hanging loose overhead, snapping in the squalls. Davos had not seen her in quite some time and the progress was impressive.

“She looks almost like an ironborn longship,” he called into the wind.

“Those are some of the fastest ships that sail the seas of Westeros. Finding people who can make as much use of them as the ironborn do is going to be the problem, though,” Stannis answered, leading them to walk along the side of the ship that was turned to the open sea. Davos followed, a little slower on his feet. Eight months into his pregnancy, he was beginning to feel like the whales he had seen in the ice-covered seas around Ibben, only not quite as majestic. He lumbered a step or two behind as Stannis led on with long strides.

“True. The ironborn mostly keep to themselves, so I don’t know of many sailors instructed in their ways. But a few always defect from those harsh islands. Perhaps if we find-”

Davos’ words were cut short by another ear-shattering snap of the sail in a gust of wind – or so he thought. As he raised his eyes, he just caught side of a part of scaffolding collapsing sideways as a frayed rope swung in a wide arch to the side.

There was not even enough time to scream a wordless warning. A wooden board caught Stannis in the head as the construct fell, and the force of it toppled his lord’s balance, throwing him into the tumultuous sea.

Davos shot around, all instinct. He’d been on too many boats spilling sailors into stormy waters to be frozen with shock by it anymore. There was a long rope tied around the mast, probably to pull the ship on land if need be. Scrambling along the deck, which was slippery with rain, he clutched its loose end in one hand and jumped in after Stannis.

With ironborn ships having flat, shallow-draft hulls, it was not a long fall. The water greeted him with a splash of cold that seemed to stab into his flesh. Davos did not let it deter him, but took a deep breath and dived. He’d seen where Stannis had fallen, but there was so little light coming from above, with the day clouded, that the sea was a dark maw underneath. The heavier pieces of wooden debris from the scaffolding were sinking around him, further obscuring his sight.

His knee met something soft. Davos turned as quick as he could to see a floating figure a foot below him. Plunging down, he took hold of Stannis’ shoulders even as he thanked the gods for his good fortune. His lungs were burning by the time he managed to break the surface, but Stannis was in his arms. He pressed Stannis’ chin up with one hand to keep his mouth and nose out of the water.

Anxiously, Davos searched his face as he paddled more or less in place, the waves pressing them against the hull. His lord’s body was still and slack in his arms, but, to his crushing relief, he found that Stannis’ chest moved in his grip. Perhaps with some last flickering effort consciousness, he’d managed to hold his breath.

But now to get him out of here before the furious waters squashed them to pulp against the ship. He figured the landing and the low longship were about the same height; sadly, both were also empty of people he could have called for help. Where were all these thrice-damned builders?! Well, it was no good cursing about it. Davos slung the rope around Stannis chest right under his arm pits, awkwardly navigating his own bulging stomach and Stannis’ broad form while trying to keep his head from dropping forward at the same time.

When he had secured the rope, he found himself looking up the side of the ship. Usually, it would have been no problem for him to climb up there, nimble as a cat scaling a tree, but it’d be a struggle now. He had to be fast, though, because Stannis was not going to keep himself afloat, and if he let him sink into the sea, he’d fill his lungs with water trying to breathe.

After studying the wood for a moment, Davos let go in a rush, then grabbed on to the gaps between planks he’d spotted and heaved himself up. His boot slipped on the hull and almost sent him skidding downwards again, but he gave himself a last push, straightening his other knee, and grabbed on to the railing, all but throwing himself over it. He just managed to roll over his shoulder and prevent himself from landing on his stomach.

Breathing hard, Davos stumbled to his feet and grabbed the rope tight, pulling with all his might. Even as he gave his first hard yank, he felt a stabbing pain down his middle. His hand slid for a moment on the damp material, but he tightened it again as the rope burned red welts into his skin, ignoring the persistent pulsing ache in his stomach, tugging, tugging. Finally, Stannis’ black head of hair appeared over the railing.

He pulled him gracelessly up onto the ship. Now, outside the water, he had to handle the full weight of his much larger form, and the ache that seemed to come from the core of his body was making him unsteady. When he finally had Stannis laid out on the deck, Davos fell to his knees by his side. It was shock that let him lower his forehead against Stannis’, holding his breath even as he was struggling for it himself just to hear his lord breathing. One hand lowered over Stannis’ chest, feeling for the beat of his heart to reassure himself it was still there, a steady thumping under his fingers.

Stannis’ blue eyes opened as Davos was still leaning over him. Davos wanted to sit up, but a wavering hand landed on the back of his head. With the uncontrolled strength of one just clawing back to full awareness, he pulled Davos down into a kiss. Davos had felt too much fear to be surprised anymore; all that came was a dim glow of happiness.

It was a slow and clumsy kiss that tasted like the salt water that had almost dragged Stannis under, with the cold storm winds pressing their wet clothes to shivering bodies. Davos didn’t want it to ever end, but there was the trampling of footsteps on the plank and he lifted his head, breathing in and out, and smiled at Stannis, who looked up at him in wide-eyed wonder.

-

The builders had brought Davos and Stannis back to the Red Keep, where they ran into Robert in the inner courtyard. Pycelle was called for Stannis’ aching head immediately, and once he’d made sure that Stannis had been proclaimed mostly healthy, if badly bruised, Davos grabbed the young maester that often followed Pycelle, a nervous little man who seemed to be weighed down by the chain around his neck, and asked him if he had a moment to spare. With Stannis’ gaze on his back, he walked the maester back to his own quarters.

The young man felt Davos’ stomach, which was still tender. There was a sudden, sharp pain in the back near his spine that, now that the fire of excitement was out of him, made him scared. If he were to have this child now, it might not even survive, or could end up growing up with failing limbs, organs, or mind. Some did survive and live well after seeing the world so early, but it was not a great number.

“I think your child won’t be born yet,” the man said carefully, after also checking between Davos’ bare legs. “Your clothes were dripping wet, which makes it hard to tell, but it doesn’t look like your water broke. Still, it’s hard to be sure with what you’re saying. It would be best for you to stay in bed. Even if it’s not born yet, it might die inside you with too much-”

The door opened with a bang and the young maester winced. Davos pulled the blanket over his lap. Stannis stood in the room, dressed in clean, dry clothes but barefoot, and down the hallway Davos heard Pycelle call his name.

“Lord Stannis, I said you need to rest-”

Stannis waved his hand at him impatiently.

“Ser Davos.”

“It’s alright, my lord. I’m alright,” Davos was quick to assure him, though he dared not sit up right now to prove himself honest.

“You didn’t say you were hurt on the way here.”

“I wasn’t. Just pulling you out was hard on my stomach.”

He grabbed more of the fabric to cover himself as Grand Maester Pycelle and the king now crowded in the doorway, too. The look of guilt on Stannis’ face was made somewhat worrying by the fact that his pupils did not have the same size.

“Well, your onion knight is alive, Stannis. Would you like to lie down now? It’d be a shame to lose you to a set of stairs after Ser Davos fished you out of the harbour,” Robert said. Though his words were irreverent, Davos thought he could see a touch of concern in his face.

“I can lie down here,” Stannis said, glancing at a wooden bench that stood by the wall. “I’m staying with Ser Davos for now.”

The grand maester and the king exchanged a glance.

“Is one flat surface going to be better than another?” Stannis snapped at Pycelle, when the silence dragged on.

“No, my lord, of course not. If you wish to remain here, that is your decision,” he assured him.

The door was closed behind Robert and the maesters and Stannis sank down on the bench, raising one hand to his forehead.

“You could have died,” he told Davos, scowling at him. “To jump after me in your state...”

“What should I have done, my lord? Had I ran to get someone else, you would have long been lost to the sea by the time we returned.”

Stannis glanced at his knees. Davos had a feeling that his lord knew he was right, but wished it were not so, that there would have been a better way. So did Davos, but that was not how life worked out most times.

“We both made it out,” he reminded Stannis.

“What about your child?” Stannis asked.

Davos swallowed.

“The maester says it might be fine if the gods are willing. I have to wait and rest now.”

Though Stannis still looked unhappy, he nodded his head. Davos thought he could hear him grind his teeth even here.

“If I may, my lord… you should lie in the bed if you want to stay here. That bench is hardly comfortable.” He did try to sit now. “Just let me get my cloak so I’ll be somewhat decent…”

“You’ll lie still or I’ll tie you to that bed, Davos,” Stannis groused as he got up, quite obviously not secure on his feet himself. He took the cloak from where it hung over the back of a chair and handed it to Davos. However, standing there, he halted. “I can go to my own room if you would prefer.”

That kiss, then, Stannis remembered it. Yes, it had lingered on the edge of Davos’ mind, too, and perhaps nothing but the fear for Stannis’ and his child’s health could have kept it there.

“I would not mind you in my bed, my lord.”

Though he still did not know what Stannis would want there with him, with this bastard in him. But there was a twitch of a smile on Stannis’ face as he climbed into bed with him and that was enough.

-

Exhaustion took Stannis first and Davos laid there as the sun started to sink and darkness crawled into the room, focusing on Stannis’ quiet breath next to him, listening that it did not stop. His child was still in his belly, not moved by his touches. It sometimes rested like that. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps the child was dead.

Strange how he had gotten so attached to this creature, but what he had told Stannis was true. When he imagined the child now, he did not think so much about its possible fathers, but about a little boy carrying the Baratheon banner and a sword, or a girl tying flower wreaths under the watchful eyes of the monster statues of Dragonstone. Those were the hopes Stannis’ words had given him. He would have done anything to save Stannis’ life; it was his duty as his knight. If he’d had grown sons, he would have sent them to fight, and, if need be, die in battle for him. Still, a child was a high price to pay, even if it was done willingly.

Perhaps he had been shifting in his disquiet, for as the moon winked through their window, with the clouds now dispersed, Stannis opened his eyes, murmuring some wordless sound of pain. Davos looked over.

“How is your head, my lord?”

“Like I fell off a cliff onto the ground,” Stannis murmured, blinking away the sleep. “But I am a bit clearer now. It felt like I had skull full of wool before.”

“I’m glad.”

Davos knew that though he was honest, his voice was thick with sorrow. Stannis had heard it, too. In a beam of moonlight, he turned to Davos. Studying his face, Davos considered how odd this was – lying in a bed with Stannis. He wished he could have enjoyed it more, like he had in his most shameful fantasies.

“What is it?” Stannis asked.

“I think the little one is dead,” Davos answered, truthfully, voice quiet. “It hasn’t moved in so long.”

Stannis pushed himself up onto his elbow. It looked like he wished to protest, but he was too sensible a man to put aside reality, they both were. What Davos had done may well be too much for an unborn child to bear.

Instead of finding words where none were needed, Stannis rested his hand on Davos’ stomach, as lightly and carefully as he had before, like what was inside him was made of glass. Of everything, this was what almost drove the tears into Davos’ eyes. To know he was not the only one who may grieve for the unborn life; that perhaps Stannis understood how despite everything he had come to love it.

The child bumped against Stannis’ fingers.

Davos jumped and Stannis tore his hand off in brief shock before hastily placing it back down, as if worried that taking it away would stop the movement. Under his palm, Davos could feel the child fussing inside him, perhaps turning.

“By the gods, how did you do that?! I’ve been prodding this poor thing for so long, I thought for sure there was nothing left to rouse!”

He did not wait for an answer, but leaned in to kiss Stannis, too elated to consider whether he was still welcome, yet Stannis’ mouth was willingly open under his.

“Obviously I did nothing,” Stannis murmured against his lips. “It was coincidence.”

But he sounded relieved, too, and Davos closed him in his arms as best he could. Stannis hesitated before carefully pulling him in, gently running his hand over the side of his stomach.

“That feels good,” Davos murmured.

Soft, soothing. Something to focus on but the low pain, though that had started to subside, anyway. Stannis dutifully continued stroking him even as they parted.

“I am glad,” he said quietly, like it was a surprise to himself. “Which is madness. I shouldn’t be. I have wanted you for so long and then... all this. Yet I feel for a child that was forced on you and isn’t even born.” He shook his head. “I watched you all those months that it grew and you spoke of it with such affection...”

“Perhaps it’s not so odd. I already told you, I am yours, my lord. I have been for a long time, and in every way. Any child of mine will in some way belong to you, too.”

Immediately, Davos wondered if that had been too daring a thing to say, delirious with happiness on Stannis’ confession. What noble man wanted responsibility of any sort for some rapist’s bastard child? And yet, Stannis’ hand stilled on Davos’ stomach

“Yes,” he said sternly.

Davos kissed him again, and a second time. He did not know what would come of this. Would he be Stannis’ affair if he married? Neither of them was the type for such disloyalty, in truth. Perhaps his luck would then be shattered when Stannis finally took a spouse. Until that time came, however, he would bask in knowing he had his affection, and his child Stannis’ care. The latter would always be true, at least, for Stannis did not go back on his word.

It had been a long day with too much fear. Davos fell asleep knowing Stannis’ gaze on him.

-

The two of them were on bedrest together and though the servants were casting curious glances at them in the morning, Stannis seemed in no way interested in budging from the spot he had chosen to recuperate. When questioned by Pycelle, he only said that Davos needed a constant guard for now and since he had nothing else to do, still not allowed to walk about himself, it may as well be him. For decency’s sake, a second bed was carried into the room. Stannis asked the nervous young maester to bring him some books. Davos slept through most of the day, thoroughly exhausted, and waking only to force down food and water.

When the sun sank the first night onto these new arrangements, Stannis was still reading in the shine of a candle. Davos watched him through half-lidded eyes.

“Will you stay over there for the night, my lord?”

Stannis looked at him. There was that shyness Davos had seen before, and now that he could more clearly understand where it was coming from, it woke a temptation to tease that flush he’d also noticed at times out of him. Not now, of course, when Stannis was ill and Davos doomed to rest as still as possible, but perhaps another night, if he should be so lucky.

“Why not?” Stannis asked.

Davos wondered if Stannis needed a good reason for himself, knowing as little of tenderness as he seemed to, never seeking it out, perhaps never having been shown how good it could be. He did not sound like he wished Davos to drop the topic, anyway. Davos thought for a moment what explanation he could give Stannis, other than that he wished to hold him again.

“I like it when you pet my belly. I think the little one likes it, too,” he said. It was not wrong, though speaking for the child was presumptuous. Still, he had noticed that his own moods would go to it and Stannis’ touch made him happy.

It was apparently sound enough, for Stannis abandoned his book and slid into Davos’ bed, greeted there with a kiss and a hug. When he fell asleep with his head leaning on Davos’ arm, Davos enjoyed the weight there, the way he could turn his face into Stannis’ black hair, the solid presence next to him. After sleeping all day, he was not so tired, but this was not something he wished to miss, anyway.

Stannis got to rise the next day, though Pycelle did not want him to do any strenuous work yet. Davos was still confined to the bed. If it had been about himself, he may have protested, but since he had the child to care for, he obeyed. Better not to risk hurting it after this ordeal.

The solitude got boring quickly, and so he found himself picking up the books that Stannis had asked for. Though he could not read, he liked manuscripts: the beautiful flow of the letters, the big, ornate ones that started new chapters, the little images in the margins, or the scribbles another hand had left there. It made him think of stories even if he could not say what was written.

Stannis found him leafing through a big tome about the history of Winterfell.

“Since when do you read?” he asked, closing the door behind himself.

“I don’t, my lord. I just like to look at the pages.”

“That’s not the purpose of a book.” Stannis took it from his hands. “I can read to you if you’re interested.”

Davos had been quite content to admire the manuscript, but if he could have Stannis detailing the history of Winterfell to him, he would gladly exchange it for that.

They laid in bed together until the sickle blade of the moon was high in the sky. Stannis read from the pages, but would sometimes stop himself for an aside of some other tale he remembered, or when he believed the author had made a mistake. Those comments were more enjoyable than the text of the book itself to Davos. It was not often that Stannis spoke of things that weren’t important – his duties, the matters at court, even the babe, those were all problems at hand. But these were just his learnings and idle thoughts mixed, a side that Stannis did not have much use for most days.

When the chapter was at an end, Stannis put the book aside.

“We should rest,” he decided.

Davos pushed himself up on his arm and kissed him.

“Thank you,” he said, against his lips.

He wanted to stop kissing him, but then Stannis leaned in when he pulled back, reflexively, and Davos had to smile and kiss him again. Stannis’ mouth opened under his, perhaps more in surprise than any other design, but Davos took the chance, slipping his tongue in to touch his, his hand resting on Stannis’ chest. Stannis grabbed him around the waist and as he pulled Davos in, Davos’ thigh brushed against his middle, finding the bulge in his trousers.

Abruptly, Stannis turned his head away, looking more angry than flustered. “My apologies.”

“Should I not take it as a compliment?” Davos asked with a smile.

“That would be a very crude one.”

“But a very honest one, too.”

Davos moved his leg again, shifting it against Stannis’ cock. Stannis gritted his teeth.

“We needn’t do this. I – I would not ask such a thing of you.”

Davos wondered why Stannis made it sound like a chore, but of course, of course he did, like one would try to keep a man who’d wounded his leg from putting pressure on it. It was good of him – but Davos had not been thinking of anything right then but Stannis in his arms. Though he could not promise the thoughts would never intrude, was in fact certain that at some point they probably must, he shook his head. There was a deep-rooted trust he had in Stannis that bypassed the apprehension he would have felt in giving in to another man right now.

“I am safe here,” he murmured, in deep conviction.

Stannis swallowed and pulled him against his chest.

“But I have not done this before,” he said, uncertainty clear in his voice. “I don’t know how I should best...”

“Fortunately, I have,” Davos interrupted, kissing him again as he slid his hand down the front of Stannis’ trousers.

Stannis’ cock grew to full size in his hand as he laid with his head against Stannis’ shoulder. Under him, Stannis’ chest rose and fell, the speed of it growing rapid as Davos slid his fingers over his cock, teasing down the underside of it with his fingertips, his thumb brushing against Stannis’ balls, then gripping his cock tightly. The way Stannis held him around the shoulders was almost bruising tight, but it felt not like being trapped, but being anchored.

When Stannis came it was still gritting his teeth, swallowing all sound, but his body growing tense under him and then releasing, suddenly, like a spring uncoiling. Davos lifted his hand and, under Stannis wide eyes, licked the seed from his fingers, relishing the salty taste on his tongue.

“I would swallow it all if I had pleased you with my mouth. Perhaps next time.”

“That will be in a few minutes if you continue like that,” Stannis murmured, stroking the back of Davos’ head. He turned him around, then, on his back, kneeling over him, the arm he leaned on above Davos’ head. He was engulfed in the shadow Stannis cast, embraced by it.

Stannis stroked him in a firm, quick, monotone rhythm from the start and Davos wondered how often he even took himself in hand, or if he did it with any true enjoyment instead of just seeking the fastest way to quell an urge. Well, no matter – if he was allowed, he would show Stannis all the ways he could please himself, and Davos, too, should he choose so. For now, what Stannis lacked in technique, he made up for in affection – kissing him timidly on the mouth and the neck, allowing Davos’ expanded stomach to press gently against his own flat one as he hovered close, stroking his head with his free hand. Davos came clutching Stannis’ shoulders hard.

That night, Stannis stayed in bed with him, too, Davos gathered up in his arm.

-

“Your Highness – my lords.”

Davos bowed before the small council. The first time that he had been allowed to stand up for another reason than to go to the privy or clean himself was to come here, called by a servant who told him of their request. He had slept alone these last two nights, both Stannis and him recovered enough that there was no good excuse to stay together anymore. He missed Stannis more fiercely than reason could explain. Now he was looking at him across the old wooden table, but Stannis was focused on his own hands, apparently deep in thought.

“Ser Davos,” Jon Arryn began. “The knights chasing the Gildvales have apprehended them and will bring them to court. A messenger has arrived this morning.”

Making sure to keep his face blank, Davos gave a nod, though his heart seized. It had been months now and he thought he had gotten used to the idea of trial, but to have it move into viewing distance still brought back a flat feeling of nausea, knowing what he would have to confess in front of the whole court. “Thank you for making such an effort, Your Grace,” he said to Robert.

“There is one problem,” Varys continued. “I’ve just told Lord Stannis, too, and he suggested you should be present to discuss this.”

“My lord?”

“Servants talk, as I’m sure you know, and your... dalliance with Lord Stannis is already fairly well-known in the Red Keep.”

“It didn’t help that my brother stormed up to your room that day you both came back from the harbour, trampling loud enough to wake the dead,” Robert added, glancing at Stannis, who still stared foward, stone-faced.

“People might think that Lord Stannis is trying to blame his bastard on somebody else,” clarified Jon Arryn.

“Oh,” Davos said quietly. Yes, that made a lot of sense. He swallowed. “It’s really not his.”

“We believe you,” Robert said. “I know my brother, after all. But the Gildvales are not the kind of people I can send to the dungeons on a whim.”

“Lord Stannis did say he had an idea how to take care of this rumour,” Varys added. “We are interested to hear it, my lord.”

Davos glanced at him.

“It’s simple,” Stannis said, sitting up to his full height, as if finally shaken awake. “If Ser Davos agrees to marry me, such accusations would lose all their sting. After all, I would make my desire to have legitimate heirs of him known. Why wouldn’t I claim one he already carries, were it mine?”

Davos could only imagine that his face showed the same unmitigated shock that he saw all around the table of the small council. Only Varys had managed to keep his expression somewhat under control.

“You are not wrong, my lord, but it seems a great sacrifice to win a battle of law,” he noted carefully.

Stannis snorted.

“I do not wish to ask for Ser Davos’ hand because of the accusation. It’s simply a problem that could be solved by a marriage I was going to offer, anyway, when this sorry business had concluded.” His gaze was a little less certain as he looked at Davos. “Provided Ser Davos wants to be wed to me.”

It took Davos a full few seconds to muster any reaction at all as he stood there with his mouth open, no sound coming from him. Of course he wanted Stannis. But for marriage?

“My lord, you know I would never refuse you, but I grew up in Flea Bottom and you are brother to the king. You could make a much better match than me.”

“He’s right,” Robert said.

“You haven’t been looking for a proper match for me since the arrangement with the Florents fell through,” Stannis snapped, sending a hard glance at his brother. “I have never asked you for much and I have always stood by you as a brother should. Can you grant me this?”

Tense silence fell over the room again until Robert bellowed a sudden laugh.

“I should have known you couldn’t have thawed enough to take a man to your bed for fun. Very well, then, have your onion knight. But you can’t marry him before he whelped, otherwise this child might be muddling your succession line and I don’t want a bastard inheriting Dragonstone.”

“Very well,” Stannis said, casting a quick glance at Davos.

Davos hoped he managed a smile. He was happy, he just felt about ready to faint again.

-

It should have been easy. It was, in a practical sense. They had all the arguments. Davos quiet admission, given to a room full of nobles as silent as a tomb. The king’s own testimony of having seen the three of them leave. The young men’s obvious flight from the knights that searched them. Finally, Stannis, who announced to a stunned court that Davos was to be his husband and that any child born to the two of them would be legitimate, so there would have been no need for a charade – given weight not only by the inherent logic, but by everyone’s knowledge of Stannis’ iron-clad view on morals.

But Davos still had to stand there, talking of his shame to all the court. He wondered, as his leaden tongue somehow moved on, if those people thought as badly of him as he did of himself, of Stannis’ knight and betrothed. Surely many men here had won fights two against one. Why had he let himself be surprised? All the old accusations he had pointed against himself he seemed to read on faces around him: stupidity, gutlessness, weakness.

He had to look at Ewart and Harlow Gildvale, but also at the frail old man he assumed to Harlow’s father, back and shoulders bent, hand shaking around a cane; at a girl who seemed no day older than seventeen, who was crying quietly all throughout into the shoulder of a pale older woman, and whose dress did not conceal that she was close to giving birth herself, probably the wife to either Ewart or Harlow.

The end of it all was that the king judged that Ewart and Harlow were to be sent to the Wall. Davos stood at Stannis’ side, looking at the girl, looking at the men, looking at the king, at the crowd, out the window to the sky. With the young woman’s sobs filling the room, there was very little thought of triumph. This crime touched more people than just him.

“What do you think?” Stannis asked, as they had finally gotten far enough away from the hall that silence was about them.

“I am grateful that the king ruled justly.”

“And?”

He should have guessed the easiest answer would not be enough for Stannis.

“I wish I could sail,” he admitted, after a moment. “Get into a small boat and slip away into the night. Not hear the castle guards repeat gossip about me back to me tomorrow, thinking they’re doing me a favour. Not see anyone. And I have always been safer on the sea than on land. It’s where I rule my fate.”

Stannis slowed his step. “I apologise.”

“For what?” Davos asked, stopping as well.

With his hands balled to fists, Stannis frowned at him.

“That I can do so little to help you, in the end.”

“You have done just about everything humanly possible, sire. Don’t mistake my dark mood for ingratitude-”

“I don’t.” He smiled humourlessly. “I’d let you sail, Davos, give you some time for yourself if you were not so heavy with child. But as it is...”

“I know it would be a bad idea. I just wish I could.”

He expected Stannis to tell him that such talk was pointless, then, but instead he glanced at the ceiling with a soundless sigh.

“If you’d take me, I’d gladly sail with you away from the whispers of court. I have never liked this insipid talking, and I will hate to hear it about you after this.”

Davos smiled at the fantasy. He’d sailed often with Stannis, but on galleys, carracks, and cogs, not on a little smuggler’s boat like the ones Davos liked best still for how easily they bent to his hand. He would steer it well and allow Stannis to watch the horizon, for once in his life perhaps not focused on his duty, but just the wind on his face.

“You and this child. I would only take us,” he said. “But as it is, we must stay... and I’m sure they’ll find something else to talk of eventually. They always do.”

Stannis nodded his head. “Robert’s next drunken embarrassment can’t be too far away,” he muttered.

Davos had to laugh. He dropped his head against Stannis’ shoulder and Stannis took his wrist, squeezing it firmly. In the end, perhaps it did not matter so much if he was on the sea, after all, as long as Stannis was with him regardless.

“Well, I don’t want to flee our wedding day, anyway,” Davos noted.

-

Since they were to be married, Stannis insisted that at least pretences had to be kept up, which Davos acquiesced to easily. While everyone at court had of course known of their time together when they were sick, it was tenuous but faintly reasonable to claim that they had been chaste worried lovers not ready to take their eyes off each other, though he doubted many would believe it. If they did, it was only because Davos was pretty sure most people thought stiff Stannis incapable of taking his pleasure with anyone. In light of that, it did amuse Davos that he had already seduced Stannis to try a number of things, and not just one night, but on several after, slowly wriggling his fingers between the plates of Stannis’ invisible armour, drawing him in with touches and kisses.

“I’m a bad influence on you, my lord,” he murmured against his neck one evening as Stannis’ hands ran up under his doublet, still a little hesitant in their movement, yet freer than before. “An honourable lord husband would make you wait.”

Stannis rolled his eyes.

“From my experience, lords are no less quick than smugglers to slide under the covers.”

“And unlike most lords, I can steal away into the darkness of my own room without the servants seeing me,” Davos said in jest as he pushed against Stannis’ chest.

To his surprise, Stannis was silent for a moment, hands still. Then he gave a quick, violent shake of his head.

“What is it?”

“I’d have you stay here, but I know you can’t right now, tradition being what it is. Still, now that you’re so close to the birth...”

Davos knew that married lords and ladies did not always sleep in one bed, anyway. Most had separate chambers. Still, no one would raise a brow if one stayed over at the other’s; and Davos had a bit of a mind to convince Stannis that they could sleep together all nights. Perhaps it would be less work than he’d thought.

“There’ll be enough time to call you when it starts. I might wish it, but babes do not simply jump free into the world,” Davos reminded him.

It was in fact not a night but a morning, when Davos had just dressed for the day, that he first felt his stomach seize. There had been contractions before, short and shallow, but these ones took him almost off his feet. He caught his breath before he called for a servant to ask the midwives to come.

They put him up in his own room, with fresh linen covering the bed. Three women swarmed in, followed by the young maester, a rather usual set-up for a birth involving a man, if Davos understood it right. Between three resolute midwives who knew quite well what they were doing, the maester seemed a little lost, but calming the young man’s nerves at least gave Davos something to focus on but his own fear.

“Have you ever been around for a birth?” he asked, between huffs of breath the oldest of the women instructed him to take.

“No,” the master answered, predictably, wringing his bony hands. “But I am sure I can – there must be something I can do.”

While he was still searching for that task, there was a hard knock on the door.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” Davos asked.

This was already too many people for his taste, looking at him lying there with the lower half of his body naked.

The maester opened the door at a nod from the head midwife. Stannis stepped past him.

“My lord, you can’t – the birth hasn’t even started yet...”

The maester was not in any way resolute enough to keep Stannis from entering the room. One of the women turned around, though, with a much sharper tone to her voice.

“This is no place for people to wait, my lord. We are trying to deliver a child.”

“I don’t plan on being in your way,” Stannis answered flatly, walking up to the side of Davos’ bed.

“With all due respect, you should not be in here at all.”

“If Jaime Lannister can be in the birthing room with his sister, I can be here with my betrothed.”

The head midwife’s expression told very well what she thought of Jaime Lannister or Stannis being in any birthing room, but apparently decided that it was not worth the hassle of starting a fight with him and instead knelt back to her former place between Davos’ legs.

“What are you doing here, sire? This is going to be a long and bloody business, if I hear correctly,” Davos said quietly, unable to keep off a faint smile.

“The better for me to stay.”

With Stannis here, Davos had some pretensions to pride. After all, he did not want to appear unduly weak-willed before his future husband. So he breathed as told and otherwise bit his lips bloody when his stomach seized, and quietly squeezed Stannis’ hand, never hearing a breath of complaint from him even when his fingers closed around his like a vice.

This lasted until the sun was high in the sky, when suddenly the pain turned harder and sharper, and wracked his whole body with every wave that came over him. Distantly, he realised the midwife was quite pleased with this, but for him, it meant a final release on his last grasp of self-control. He whimpered and shouted now with every order to push, focused on nothing but putting all his strength into it. Between his attempts, his hand laid limp in Stannis’ and finally was placed on the bed when Stannis reached for his forehead instead, wiping away the cold sweat and pressing his palm there, a gentle touch that Davos could not have been more thankful for.

He had no more mind to pay to the sky, or to anything in the room but the voice of the midwife and Stannis’ hand on him. It could have been an eternity he laid there, trying to put this child into the world. His whole body was damp and yet burned. As shadows around him grew longer, his legs were trembling, his strength failing. Yet, he had to keep trying. He had no choice, after all. He still felt Stannis wipe away sweat and tears from his face.

When the baby came into the world, it seemed in a sudden rush, much too little time to account for the hours of agony before. Davos fell back into the bed to the noise of crooning, words that melted into one in his head. His thighs were slick with blood.

There was a cry, squeaking at first, but growing stronger.

“Now just the afterbirth,” one of the younger women told him.

Davos tried a nod as he watched the maester and the other two midwives crowd around the crying child, holding it out of his view. He glanced up at Stannis.

“Can you... is it... alright?”

“Yes,” Stannis said slowly, so Davos could catch it. “That’s what she said.”

Davos hadn’t even heard that. He wanted to see his child. However, first he had to finish this. Gods be good, the afterbirth did not turn into a problem of its own. With one hand on his stomach, the midwife managed to coax it out quickly, leaving him to lie on the bed like a sack of wine all emptied out. His child was still crying as water splashed. Finally, the oldest midwife turned. The grime of the birth had been cleaned off the babe and the bloody stump of the navel cut short. A girl, Davos saw, as he ran his eyes over her, with a face scrunched up in a wail and thin dark hair pressed damp against her little head. The midwife wrapped her in a clean cloth.

She was placed, finally, in his arms, and Davos stared at her as if under a spell while the younger midwife cleaned up the mess and covered them both in a blanket. Stannis stood silently by his side as the girl decided that the warmth she’d been delivered into in Davos’ arms was reason enough to stop the squalling for now.

“She looks healthy enough,” Davos managed, running a thumb that looked much too large next to the tiny head along her face. His voice was hoarse from shouting. Finally, something like relief settled in him. He smiled at Stannis, who smiled back, sitting at the side of the bed.

The midwives and the maester filed through the door, one of the woman saying that they would inform the king, leaving the three of them alone in comfortable, exhausted silence.

“Waters, isn’t it?” Davos asked, after a while. “The name of the Crownlands bastards?”

Ten years ago, she wouldn’t have had any surname because Davos hadn’t even had one to pass on and was no one important enough to have to mark his bastards from his legitimate children by such signs. But now, she would grow up in a house with Baratheon siblings, gods be willing.

“Yes,” Stannis said with a nod. “Not altogether a bad name for the daughter of a man called Seaworth.”

“No,” Davos said with a breathless laugh.

Stannis reached out, carefully touching the little bundle.

“Would you like to hold her?” Davos asked.

“If you’d rather not...”

With the last of his strength, Davos lifted the child up into Stannis’ arms. Stannis held her awkwardly away from himself for a moment, his broad hands further dwarfing the small creature, before finally settling her in his arms as if he had to shield her from a roaring storm. It would have been funny if it had not squeezed Davos’ heart tightly to see him so gentle with this child that was not his.

“Have you thought of anything for her first name?” Stannis asked, looking down at her.

“Oh, a hundred things. The same if she’d been a boy,” Davos murmured. “But I figured I would have to see her first to decide.”

“And what do you decide?”

“Nothing yet,” Davos admitted. He was too tired and too overwhelmed, but he doubted it would matter so much to leave her nameless a few hours longer, until he’d had time to let it all settle. “Do you have an idea?” he asked, glancing up.

Stannis looked apprehensive for a moment.

“She will grow up in our household and she won’t carry the name of the other children, or have their nobility. But I wouldn’t want her to think she’s just tolerated for your sake. Perhaps – Cassana?”

It was a nice name, and a familiar one, but as dazed as he was from the birth, Davos could not place it.

Before he could answer, the door opened again. He expected a midwife, but found instead young Renly poking his head around the door.

“Renly, you shouldn’t be here,” Stannis said, sitting straighter.

Renly hesitated in the doorway.

“But a servant said your baby was born, Ser Davos, and I wanted to bring the doll.”

Davos glanced at Stannis with a brief smile. He’d figured the boy might have already forgotten about that, flighty as children were, but apparently he had only been waiting for the right moment.

“He can give the doll, can’t he?” he asked.

“I suppose,” Stannis muttered, softened perhaps by Davos’ words as much as by Renly’s

Renly came up with a doll wrapped in a patchy, roughly-sewn robe of many colours. He glanced curiously into the hollow of Stannis’ crossed arms, where the baby rested against his chest.

“It’s a girl,” Davos said. “Lord Stannis thinks Cassana would be a nice name for her. What do you say?”

“Like our mother?” Renly asked.

Thunderstruck, Davos stared at Renly. Yes, of course – Cassana Estermont, one of the many people dragged to a watery grave by the _Windproud_ , the lost mother that Stannis had grieved so bitterly. That was how Stannis wanted to show the world his acceptance of the bastard girl born under such an unlucky star.

“It’s a – it’s a very good name, isn’t it?” Davos managed.

“If she’s called the same as my lady mother, and you’re going to be wed to Stannis, then she’s almost my niece, isn’t she?” Renly asked, apparently satisfied with this newfound claim on her as his playmate, as he gently put the little cloth doll in Stannis’ arms by her side.

“Yes, indeed,” Stannis murmured, quietly, and placed Cassana Waters and her colourful doll back on Davos’ chest.

Davos couldn’t find words to say anything yet, but he could still smile at Stannis.


End file.
